Okay, deal nullified. I repeat, deal nullified. I really tried, but with school and everything, it's very hard to write two chapters a day. If you enjoy the story and send power stones, I really appreciate it, but writing two chapters a day felt like I was seriously overcooking myself.
...
Hearing Scott speak, Jean felt an overwhelming urge to telekinetically yeet someone into a wall. Did he seriously think she was too dumb to figure out this might be a prank?
Even Charles had believed her. Charles, who second-guessed everything from mutant politics to future fashion trends. And even if it was a prank, wasn't it smarter to err on the side of not pissing off a self-proclaimed goddess with dark vibes?
The worst part? She could hear his thoughts. God, he really thought he sounded cool. Cool. Like a bootleg James Bond who'd swapped out charm for passive-aggression and sunglasses.
Luckily, the goddess in question didn't look mad. Yet. Jean shot a glance at Charles. The old man gave her a little nod—reassurance or permission to ignore Scott, unclear, but she took it as the former.
She turned to Hela, trying to keep her voice calm and diplomatic, even though, internally, she didn't like this situation.
"I'm sorry for what my comrade said," she said, giving Scott's general direction the same look one might give a particularly useless fire extinguisher. "He didn't mean to disrespect you or anything. He's just... naturally suspicious. Like a raccoon. Hope you can forgive him."
Hela nodded, seemingly unbothered, which was a relief—until Jean heard Scott's thoughts again.
He wasn't happy she apologized. In fact, he was internally monologuing about how right he was. He was actually preparing to say it out loud, which would've made things so much worse.
Before his mouth could betray them all, Jean mentally flicked the mute button on him like a fed-up Zoom host.
Scott's mouth kept moving, but all that came out was a muffled "Hmm! Mmmf! Hmmm!"
He looked like someone trying to mime an invisible sandwich. Jean didn't even glance at him. She turned to Charles. The old man's knowing smile suggested he caught on.
To all this, Hela chuckled softly, thoroughly entertained.
"Telepathic gag order? Brutal. Efficient. This goddess approves."
Jean didn't smile, but deep down, she was thinking about how to end this situation.
Well. This was awkward.
Charles and Scott were staring at the empty space where Hela definitely was. They couldn't see her while Jean could.
Unfortunately, seeing someone didn't mean she had any clue how to talk to them, looking at the death-draped figure floating across from Jean like a queen at court. Hela. The Queen of Asgard, or so she had proclaimed.
Jean strangely believed her. Every inch of Hela radiated power, cold and ancient, the sort of presence that made you feel like blinking was a privilege she hadn't yet revoked.
Jean, who wasn't great at social interactions in general, didn't know what to say.
Words seemed too small, too clumsy, for a conversation with a figure who looked like she'd once danced in the ruins of kingdoms.
The silence was growing louder, and Jean, who was under mental pressure and was about to say some nonsense, heard Hela speak.
"Let's discuss like civilized people," she said, looking like she was granting them some privilege. "No tension. Ask what you want. I'll answer what I feel like."
Translation: *You may speak. I might not listen.*
Jean relayed the message to Charles, who looked intrigued, and Scott, who looked like he'd rather punch a ghost.
And as this bizarre peace talk began, far across the realms, someone else with a deep connection to Hela was not having a peaceful day.
...
Odin's POV
For a year now, Odin Allfather—ruler of Asgard, wielder of wisdom, and chronic micromanager—had been living in the divine equivalent of airplane mode.
One day, poof. No more glimpses of the future. One of the perks of being a cosmic overlord was seeing every timeline like it was a library catalog—past, present, future, alternate realities, you name it. And now?
Just static.
He could still peer into dimensions and observe the shifting threads of various universes, sure, but time itself? Completely off-limits. Past and future were blacked out like sensitive government files.
At first, Odin panicked in a very dignified, kingly way—which mostly meant brooding dramatically on his throne while Heimdall pretended not to notice.
But eventually, the Allfather did what all ancient beings do when the universe stops making sense: he shrugged, poured himself a metaphysical drink, and decided to roll with it.
He had more important things to worry about anyway. Like Ragnarok. You know, the end of days, total annihilation, minor scheduling conflict.
His master plan? Ensure Thor didn't end up like Hela—a flaming ball of resentment and eyeliner. So he did what any responsible parent would do: yeeted his son to Midgard, wiped his memory, sealed his powers, and hoped he'd learn humility from binge-drinking with mortals.
To Odin's surprise, it worked. Thor had grown, become more grounded, even learned what a toaster was. Progress.
Of course, Odin monitored him constantly, using his cosmic awareness. If Thor so much as sneezed near a moral dilemma, Odin knew about it.
But recently, he'd realized he wasn't alone in his cosmic frustration. Even the Ancient One had dropped by with that charmingly vague smile, muttering something about the Time Stone feeling 'off' lately.
So yes—something was messing with time. Something big. Something annoying.
Still, Odin remained calm. As long as this mysterious interference didn't touch Asgard or his precious son, he'd let it slide.
But if it did?
Well, someone was going to find out what happens when the Allfather stops being chill.
...
Fortunately for Hela, she'd managed to keep her curiosity under control—barely. Yes, she had Viper do a bit of digging, but nothing that required getting within sneezing distance of Thor.
She had considered peeking in on Thor's charming little human life. Maybe laugh at his fashion sense, maybe flick a pebble at him from across the street. But ultimately, she decided against it.
With her luck, Heimdall—or Odin, that one-eyed hypocrite—might've been watching. She didn't survive five thousand years of war and exile just to get zapped over curiosity. Good call, really.
Instead, she was enjoying the far more reasonable setting of Earth, engaging in what could only be described as a very special… interrogation? Interview? Group therapy session?
In front of her sat Charles Xavier, wheelchair-bound but with enough self-possession to run a small kingdom. Hank, the oversized smurf with too many degrees, kept glancing around like a paranoid squirrel, probably trying to 'observe the energy signature of an invisible goddess' or some such nonsense.
Then there was Scott, trying to look cool and ready, the kind of man who would dramatically remove his sunglasses and promptly walk into a wall. Adorable.
Charles, with that infuriatingly composed expression, finally spoke. "So, Your Majesty Hela, the last time you visited Earth was... around 2500 years ago?"
Hela gave him a tight smile. Jean, bless her little mortal brain, was doing her best—relaying everything Hela said and did to Charles via telepathy.
Which she'd only allowed for Charles. Not for Hank, who would probably want to dissect her molecules. And definitely not for Cyclops over there, whose personality seemed to start and end with 'brood with style.'
Charles was decent, though. Not the saintly version she vaguely remembered from some comics, but still solid. With her age and experience, she could spot a genuine soul faster than most people could blink.
"I did come to Earth back then," she said lightly. "With my father, Odin—yes, that Odin. We had some creative differences about conquest, which ended with me being banished as he was stronger than me at that time and he rewrote history. As you do in divine family squabbles."
Jean's mental gasp practically echoed in the air. "Wait, wait—you're Odin's daughter? But I thought Hela was Loki's kid?"
Oh, history. Such a delightful liar.
*Touché, little redhead,* Hela thought dryly. That's exactly why she introduced herself as Queen of Asgard earlier. Might as well let the mortals start adjusting their worldview before dropping the whole family drama on them.
"Loki?" Hela snorted. "Darling, Loki doesn't even know I exist. I'm about three thousand years older than him. Whatever Midgard thinks it knows about me, just toss it into the trash. Actually—burn it first, then toss the ashes into a black hole."
Jean just nodded, stunned. "Oh."
Charles, ever the gentleman, cleared his throat, fingers steepled like a man about to give either a lecture or a eulogy. "If I may ask… what brings you to Earth now, after so long?"
Clever man. Direct without being confrontational. She liked that. Still, she arched a brow.
"I already told Jean, but since you're so polite…"
She floated comfortably with the air of someone recounting the plot of a soap opera.
"Earth's quite the little gem. Mutants with terrifying potential, gods playing peek-a-boo, eldritch entities knocking on the dimensional door like trick-or-treaters... it's honestly a circus, and I love a good show."
She tilted her head slightly, gaze flicking toward Jean. "And this one—your little red star here—is the avatar of one of the oldest beings in the multiverse. She's either going to be the salvation of your species or the reason the sun explodes early. Either way, I didn't want to miss it. I'm here to pass the time and maybe… place a few bets."
The room went quiet, and for a moment, Hela felt genuinely amused.
Ah, trolling people. So enjoyable.